The Hunger Games: Foxface
by SafeandSound9
Summary: So, this is my first publish on FanFiction. I'm the story of The Hunger Games from Foxface's point of view. There will still be the same Characters (a few added), the same encounters with Peeta leaving the berries and the same ending Foxface has in the orginal. I wanted to write this so I could have more insight to the character as we never really get to know much about her.
1. A Reaping In District 5 (Chapter 1)

"Finch Crossley!" the escort calls from the platform. Some poor girl named Finch Crossley is about to be sent into a pit of death by the snakes of the Capitol. I wonder who she is... "Finch." Whisper the people around me. "Finch, it's you." It's me. _I_ am Finch Crossley.

My life flashes, like strangers have described it, in short snippets of conversation and action starting with this morning...

I wake about 5:00am, when the power plant security officers leave for work. Seeping through my bedroom window is the stunted, grey, morning light from outside; we rarely see the sun here in District 5. "Early to bed, early to rise." Mother used to say. Obviously, she is dead now. Father had made up a lie: she fell off a telegraph pole while cleaning it. Undoubtedly, he was lying; I am very smart, you know.

Today is reaping day; the day of which two children are selected to be sent, like pigs for slaughter, into an arena where they are forced to brutally murder one another. Father says that it is required of me to wear my best clothes. I do have some fine things, mostly heirlooms and antiques, but they are hardly worth selling for food. If I ever sold my best shoes, I would receive as much as a squirrel...maybe two. We are quite lucky though, here in District 5, as I have heard rumours about the outline districts: 10, 11 and 12. Whispers have floated through my tiny school that almost _everyone_ eligible signs up for tesserae, they are forced to trade on the black market and most people die prematurely of hunger than of old age.

At the reaping, we are herded like livestock into roped-off areas in front of the Justice Building corresponding to our ages. I am near the furthest right where all the 17 year olds stand. I look across to my left towards the 12 year olds. They have barely begun to discover the world-or rather, our small portion of it-, they have not learned to stand on their own two feet yet, they are in ignorant bliss of what is to come...so _why_ are they made to do this? 'The sharp knife of a short life' I remembered the quote from an ancient book that I had managed to get my hands on. Only now, after all these years, have I fully understood what it means.

"...This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future." I don't bother to watch or to listen to the propaganda video than was currently being broadcasted across Panem; I have heard it too many times. However, the last few lines caught my attention as this was the cue for the selection to begin.

"Boys!" the escort calls. She is naturally (perhaps that's not the best word; surgically engineered) like the all the other brainwashed citizens of the Capitol but as an escort, she is _extra _deluded so to say. "Vitas Maddox!" shouting seems to be a common theme for her. Commotion from the section with the 15 years olds is followed by a lone tribute making his way towards the stage. He looks much older than 15; Vitas is very muscular. He has very tanned skin and an engraved crease between his eyebrows-a sign of a worried life.

"Now, for the girls!" the escort seems to take forever to chose a piece of folded up paper. My name is entered 6 times this reaping. Every girl here holds their breath as she walks back to the microphone holding a name in the air. Somebody's life is _literally_ in her hands. We all hear the crackle of the paper as she opens it. "Finch Crossley!"


	2. The Train (Chapter 2)

District 5 is a small district so there is no use for cars or buses like the ones I have heard about in 1 and 2. I should have been amazed by the plush, velvet seats and the dazzling chandeliers on the train we were going to be travelling on but I wasn't. Why would trivial things like the spongy carpet beneath my feet grab my attention when my life was inevitably coming to an end? I have perspective. I may not be strong like the other tribute would be, but at least I have perspective and can think my way out of problems.

"Take a seat." The escort says. "My name is Magna Quinque but call me Magna." Even though she is sitting opposite us, she speaks as if she is addressing an audience. "It will take us approximately two days to reach The Capitol where you will be immersed in riches beyond your belief. I love that even though, at the very most, only 1 of you will be sitting here when this train makes its way back to District 5, both of you get to enjoy all the luxuries that we offer. I'm going to get your mentor."

Vitas and I sit side by side in silence; what was there that we could say to one another?

"Congratulations." A voice behind us sounds-a girl. "I'm Trica and I'll be your mentor for the next few days." When she sits in front of us, where Magna sat, I see that she was mid-thirties. Trica has red hair like me and is very skinny with bones poking out of every angle. "Is there anything that either of you want to ask me right off the bat?" I also notice that she had a girlish voice: soft and airy. Again, we sit there in silence giving a clear answer to her question. "Right, well, I will begin teaching you strategies tomorrow over breakfast. Make yourself at home." And then she leaves.

Feeling the fatigue creep into my muscles, I decide to go to my assigned room to have a nap. I requested to have dinner bought to my room tonight as I don't feel like socializing.

Morning comes all too early and I dress wearily in the clothes I have been provided with. In about 5 hours, we would arrive at The Capitol and the beginning of the end would commence. I make my way to the main room where breakfast was served. Vitas is already there, alone, tucking ravenously into bacon and eggs. I was familiar with the dish; father had worked hard to make sure I would get a proper meal on my 14th birthday. "This is really good, you should try some." He says between bites as I sit opposite. Following his suggestion, I fill my plate with food. It tastes much better than 3 years ago.

"Morning, you two!" Trica swans in and fills her plate with mountains of eggs-no bacon. She doesn't hesitate to dive into strategies. "Now, from my experience, I have learnt that hiding for the first portion of The Games will do you justice but eventually you _are_ going to have to kill someone if you want to live. The best way to..." I let her voice fade off, not wanting to listen to all the gory details of mutilation. There _has_ to be some other way to come out alive: maybe if I hide through _all_ of it so the Gamemakers would kill my opponent off. No, that won't do it; The Capitol likes violence between children so they'd bring us together somehow. What about dying of natural causes? As most people in my District already know, I am very smart; I can find my way out of a concrete room with no doors if I had to. But if I get_ too_ sick, I can't cure myself.

"Finch?" Trica brought me to attention.

"Yes?"

"What do you want to do?" she pressed.

"About what?"

"Would you like to train alone or train together?"

"Oh, uh, I don't mind." I say feebly. "Actually, I think I know my strategy; do you mind if I leave?"

"Of course." Trica dismisses me and I stalk off to my room.

I feel a bit sick. I need to lie down. I just need a nap. Sleep takes me.

"Finch! Finch, wake up, we're here!" Vitas knocks too loudly on the door. I realise that I have been asleep for a very long time. Instinctively, I spring off the bed and swing open the door. "Everybody is outside, you should really see it." There's another suggestion I don't refuse. Distant voices chant our names as I follow him through the train. "Finch! Vitas! Finch! Vitas!". We find a window to look out. A sea of colourful creatures surge towards the train as they see us. Some are painted different colours while some have patterns on their faces. They wear other-worldly clothes which make them look like aliens. _These are the people who can't wait to see us die_ I think. _So why are they cheering our names?_


	3. Remade For A Tribute Parade (Chapter 3)

"Remake me? What do you mean?" I sit awkwardly on a table while 3 crazies poke and prod all over my body. "We need to get you to 'beauty base zero' before your stylist arrives to dress you for the tribute parade. I don't bother to object as I know this is just another way of The Capitol trying to prove that they now own me. With a sigh, I to let them _'remake' _me.

Every inch of my skin, apart from my head, eyebrows and eyelashes, is stripped from hair. My eyebrows are altered to look as though they have been drawn on and my nails are filed into perfect shapes. The amount of creams and lotions and potions I have on my face is truly barbaric! They circle around me, looking for imperfections, like creatures from another planet; I feel as if I'm being inspected by birds rather than humans so I don't feel as embarrassed as I would be.

"You're ready to meet your stylist now." One of the birds says. At that, I hear somebody walk in. "Congratulations Recta, Crispus and Rosea. You have done an excellent job." He praises then politely asks them to leave. I sit up and swing my bare legs over the table. "Hello, Finch. I'm Sol." Sol extends his hand to shake mine. "Here. You can put this on." He then hands me a robe of some sort.

"As you know, the Tribute Parade is tonight. It is my job to reflect your district through your outfit. So, this is what I have come up with." He reaches into a small closet on the right-hand wall and pulls out a sparkling, silver, floor length dress with a huge, circular headpiece. I don't know how to respond to the mindless attire, so I just let him dress me, do my make-up without as much as a word.

Later, all the tributes are gathered ready to make the entrance for the Tribute Parade on our chariot. I do love our horses, but I have always had a soft spot for animals. Ruree was my kitten back in District 5: he was only 6 months old but regardless, fat. Despite having not been showered in fish and meat, he was _very_ fat. Late at night, when he grew hungry, I loved to watch him hunt for mice: Ruree would sniff meticulously in the nooks and crannies of the living room; then he's crouch, fixed on his prey; a short wiggle of his bottom and then...ATTACK! Never was there an unsuccessful hunt. This is the first time I have missed home.

The national anthem of Panem floods through the stadium and we are pulled out by the horses. I cannot comprehend the size of the crowd here tonight; it doesn't look as big on TV. More crazy people cheer in the stands for their favourite tribute. "Glimmer!" is screamed quite a few times. It is when our chariot has reached half way down the runway that things really start to get crazy: everybody is on their feet, roses are thrown high and low and people are chanting "Katniss! Peeta! Katniss! Peeta!" Who are these people? Obviously they are tributes but what have they done to make the crowd erupt like a volcano? I resist the urge to look back. Only do I see them when we are circled around the podium President Snow is proudly standing on.

Two tributes, from District 12 I assume, are on fire...but they are not screaming for help. The girl has dark hair and her face is illuminated by the fire while the boy is looks like he has a lot of muscle-he has a softer face than the girl, though. I wish we had such a skilled stylist like theirs... In an instant, the fire was extinguished and they were left in their black suits, completely unharmed. _Amazing_...

"Tributes, we welcome you!" President Snow starts. "We salute your courage and your sacrifice." _I didn't _want_ to do this _I bitterly think. He makes it sound as if all of us have voluntarily sacrificed ourselves for the entertainment of Panem, more specifically, The Capitol! "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favour!" his snake-like smile builds up a fiery anger in me that I had never experienced before.

After the parade, all the tributes are escorted to the accommodations we would be staying in. Since Vitas and I are from District 5, we stay in the 5th floor. I feel a slight pang of jealousy for Katniss and Peeta; they get the penthouse. If I had the penthouse, I would find some way to climb down the side of the building and run away- far away. Despite hearing the stories of the magnetic force preventing anything from falling (in some cases, jumping) off, I'm sure I could find some way to disengage it.

Extravagant, luxurious and expensive are my 3 words to describe our apartment. Still, I am not overwhelmed like I am sure some tributes, including Vitas, are. Like a kid in a candy store, he jumps on all the squishy sofas, eats everything on offer and makes a superman cape with his duvet. "Vitas, what are you..." I start but he cuts me off.

"Oh, come on; just have a little fun! We're going to die anyway!" that hurt. I hadn't fully accepted my imminent death until now; I suppose there was still a shred of hope that I could win but seeing the other tribute tonight had changed my mind. Although, I hadn't realised my mind had been changed until _this moment_ when one of the strongest tributes, Vitas, had given up hope. "I'm not sure I know _how_ to have fun." I say.

"Come with me." He grabs my hand and pulls me to a quiet corner.

"You see that lobster over there?"

"Yes?"

"I here Magna is afraid of them." He eyes me suggestively. It takes me a while but I finally got what he was telling me to do. Oh, honestly! These were the prank of a child! But I do it anyway...

Dinner is nice, I suppose. Much better than at home. However, the food it not what makes it interesting.

"Is there something on my head?" Magna questions with her head tipped to the side. Trica scoffs, nearly choking on her wine. "You may have a little bit of...food in your hair." Vitas muses. Inescapably, her perfectly manicured hand reaches slowly to the top of her head...connecting with the live lobster. As she ear-piercingly screams, Vitas and I 'fist bump' (as he calls it) under the table.


End file.
